Bland as natural stupidity seasoned with learned ignorance,
she is; as clueless an amnesiac upon those old tropes of dark,
deserted winter roads as will ever; as a being of pale virtue,
her eyes spark bright with enlightened cruelties; as my love

I do not bleed to death-- her talons, yet to leave my heart;
she is not cursed-- my birth-voice, fallen-torn in her throat;
in sinuate echo, we complect-- marrow dreamt, is warmth.